Turn Down the Volume
Remember all my anxiety about Cakes not talking? I didn’t know a good thing when I had it. The gal is making up for lost time, and she has only one volume setting—excruciatingly loud.
My day starts with a sound more irritating than the loudest alarm, and even though we don’t even sleep on the same floor, she might as well be in the same room.
“Mommy! Mom-MY! MOMMY! GET UP!”
My plaintive shouts of “please, just a little more sleep!” are immediately terminated with, “NO! GET UP MOMMY!”
I’ve blogged before about my frustration with Cakes’ frequent use of the word “no”. Now her favourite word is “why”.
Met: Cakes, please take your finger out of your nose/ear/diaper.
Met: Because it’s rude.
Met: Because your nose/ear/ass is dirty.
Met: Because I said so.
Met: fuck fuck fuck
Today we spent five hours in total in the car. When we weren’t singing “Wheels on the Bus” at the top of our lungs, we were counting the cows in Spanish. Or asking, “Where are the COWS, Mommy? Where COWS! MOMMY, WHERE COWS!!!”
Oh, how I miss the days of grunting and pointing.
She’s never been more annoying; she’s never been more endearing.